The Fall of Veii- Part 2

by Francis Mulhern

  Scipio gave orders for the tents to be cleared and the huts closest to the water to be emptied. Men rushed to and fro as muttering and cursing began across the rear of the camp.

  Priscus arrived as Scipio cleared the last edge of the water, his tunic soaked up to his waist from his splashing through the water.

  “What is it?” Priscus asked, his eyes wide.

  “I have no idea” replied Scipio. “The water had receded for the past few days. There is no reason for this to happen” he looked back to his commander with a shake of his head.

  “Fetch the augur to my tent and bring the officers. We need to work out what to do” he said.

  As he turned he saw several legionaries staring at them, all wondering what was happening. “Get that gear shifted” Priscus yelled “or you’ll all be on a charge” he added venomously.

  *

  *

  *

  *

  Chapter 8

  The thump of arrows was loud as Marcus gripped the top of the wall and pulled himself onto the roof, his arms still stiff from fighting in the street below. Ahead of him several archers were firing into the road below without bothering to aim. To his right the wall stretched towards the main gate and another group of archers were aiming more cautiously at the knot of soldiers fighting to gain access to the main gate. It seemed that the covering archery was making a difference as the Capenates were visibly falling back, more Romans joining the attackers as Marcus watched.

  “Excellent” he said, clapping his hands and rubbing them, as much to try and bring some life back to his tired hands as show his appreciation.

  “Here, sir” said Amaelius , his creased brow showing the urgency with which he had called his Tribune to the roof. Potitus appeared beside Marcus, his face fresh and smiling as he perused the work of the soldiers around him.

  Amaelius squatted and edged forwards to the front of the long flat roof on which they stood and beckoned his officer’s forwards. At the end of the roof he lay flat and nudged his body slowly to the lip.

  “See, sir. As I said. The main army is standing in reserve in the town square and they have blocked every entrance. A last stand” he said knowledgably as Marcus and Potitus lay beside him and looked out across the many roofs of the city to see the spears and some of the bodies of men amassed in deep phalanxes across the town square behind the central road to the main gate.

  Marcus grinned, patting the archer as he moved backwards and grinned to Potitus.

  “How quickly could you get twenty Scorpions across those roofs?” Marcus asked, clearly surprising Potitus who had not even considered this action.

  Stunned for a moment he took a few seconds to think through the idea. “Fifteen minutes” he blustered, his mind still wheeling at the thought.

  “You need to do it in ten” he said, his face earnest. Potitus stared at his command for a moment before turning and rushing across to the ladder and disappearing from the roof.

  The noise of fighting below them continued as Marcus stretched his neck to look over into the narrow gap. Men continued to parry and thrust, red spots of blood appearing as men screamed, but the impasse remained, neither side as winning.

  “Amaelius” Marcus beckoned the archer over. Get all the archers over here and hit this lot hard. Find the leaders and kill them first” he said with a calculating look at the newly promoted man. I want them in panic within ten minutes.

  “Sir” said the archer as he saluted and ran away calling to his men.

  Climbing down the ladder Marcus called a messenger across and quickly wrote on the wax tablet, his instructions short and precise.

  “Take this to Rufus” he said “he must do precisely what it says” he added. “Repeat the order” he said, a trick he had been taught by Lucius many years before when he had first joined the army. Messengers were prone to fear as they were often the poor soldiers who had the least armour and could not afford the cost of the spears and shields which added them to the ranks of the Roman legions. As such many were prone to fear and often got messages mixed up or even lost. The order was repeated and Marcus nodded before the messenger sprinted away through the open gate, some of the soldiers jeering the man as he ran.

  Despite continuously changing the front row of the attackers and raining arrows into the mass of men progress up the roadway was still stuck. Additional men were of no use and Marcus had considered removing the rubble in the alleyway to attack the defenders from the rear. They had held this location for several minutes now but so far no additional support had come from the Capenates, clearly satisfied that the Romans at this gate posed no danger. So far they were right, despite Marcus’ best efforts he needed his next attack to work.

  A deep cry and a series of groans came from the road as more arrows rained into the narrow street, the thumping of iron on wood intermittently mixed with the screams of a successful shot.

  Horses clattered into the doorway as men jumped from their backs carrying the four feet high wooden scorpions, other men arrived on foot carrying wrapped packages of heavy iron-tipped bolts, sweat dripping from their faces as they gasped for breath from the run.

  “Up there” called Marcus as the men looked around at the narrow, high-walled, alleyway in which they found themselves. The first men struggled to climb the ladders with the heavy scorpions, soon resorting to three men on the ladders passing the implements up to their colleagues. Marcus was pleased with their efficiency as they quickly adapted to the circumstances in which they found themselves.

  A sudden cheer went up from the Romans at the roadway and a body was pulled back through the mass of soldiers crammed across the mouth of the road. The blood soaked body jumped to its feet, as if rising from the dead, the man’s chest heaving as his eyes roved the scene and he pulled a water pouch from a legionary and poured it over his face to clean the gore from his face.

  “Fabius” Marcus said as he wondered over to the man, his eyes bright and face now washed mostly clean of blood.

  “By the gods Camillus this is what life is for” he said as he hefted his sword and breathed out a long slow breath. “The men had to drag me from the front” he said with a manic smile as Marcus grinned back at him and shook his head.

  “You are a talisman to the troops, Quintus. But I need you to recover your sword arm. I need you to take Narcius’s place as he has been injured.”

  The slight smile was quickly followed by “Not badly?”

  “No, a flesh wound but he is out of action” came Marcus’s reply. “Take command of the men by the gate and await my instructions” he added as he grinned at the younger man’s enthusiasm for bloodshed, hoping that he never angered him as he was surely a force of nature whom some god watched over.

  The men by the gate gave a low cheer as Fabius wandered over and started to tell them of his exploits. Marcus made a mental note that he must talk to Fabius about his fraternising with the men. It was a double edged sword and his privilege as a patrician would soon mean he may have to make life and death decisions for the very men to whom he was now boasting about his skills. It would be a hard discussion, but it needed to happen.

  Potitus called from the roof top “Ready” he called.

  Marcus nodded and moved to the gate, stepping into the sunlight to see more men racing towards the main gates as arrows and stones arced onto them, the half-hearted attack failing as Marcus had ordered. His plan seemed to be working, the attack at the main gate was stalling and so was the one in the rear. As far as the defenders were concerned the Romans had made no major in-roads into their city. Marcus grinned, the screw was about to be turned.

  ****

  “This war is cursed” the men shouted, more calls coming from the back of the ranks of men who were standing watching the augur as he took the chicken from its cage.

  Sallus, his white flecked beard trimmed to a long point, breathed slowly as he closed his eyes and invoked the gods to guide his divination. The candle spluttered in the light wind as he held the b
ird over the silver dish and quickly split its throat, removing the head and gripping the legs before they kicked too strongly. Expertly he removed the breast meat and sliced open the guts, adding the entrails to the larger silver bowl and then slicing the heart and liver from the bird and placing them in the smaller dish. As he wiped some of the blood from his hands on a white, embroidered, cloth he peered at the entrails, picking through them as he used the point of his iron tipped knife to nudge aside the thicker entrails from the thinner. He grimaced at something, some of the closer soldiers falling silent as others muttered words about curses and war as Sallus tried to block out their words. Priscus had been clear in his instructions, whatever the reading the troops should know that it was good, any bad omens would be delivered to the Tribune alone.

  Smiling he raised the entrails and grinned at the officers standing closest to him. “The signs are clear.” He spoke quickly placing the knife under the entrails and slicing a chunk from them, which he added to a wooden bowl carved with a dancing nymph along the outside. These entrails would be burnt as an offering to the gods when the reading was finished. Turning to the liver he sliced it in three places and nodded as if happy with what he saw, taking one slice and placing it in the wooden bowl, the rest he left on the silver dish. The heart he sliced and inspected for a few minutes before declaring it strong, a good sign from the gods.

  As he finished he turned to the Tribune and said “the augury is finished. There is no curse on this land and no bad omen on our just and righteous war with Veii. The rising of the water is simply the water spirits angry that we are fouling the water. The gods ask us to move the men away from the water and make daily supplication to the spirits and all will be well.”

  Masterful, thought Priscus, even better than he had hoped for.

  Silence fell amongst the men as Priscus stepped forwards. “You have heard the Augur. Officers” he turned to the ranks to his right. “Make it as the Augur has commanded on behalf of the gods and the spirits of the water. Move the camp to the west and have daily supplication rites each day by the lake.” He smiled as the officers saluted and began to clear the men.

  Returning to the command tent Priscus sat and poured two large cups of un-watered wine.

  As the Augur crept into the tent Priscus smiled at the old man and waved towards the seat. “Well, brother?” he asked as the man sat and let out a deep breath, his eyes smiling at his younger brother.

  “Not good at all” he said gripping the cup and taking a long draught of the cool wine. “You will need to send to Rome to get the Pontifex to check the reading but I saw two distinct problems facing us before the war will be won. Firstly” he drank again. “The intestines give the timelines of one year or two for resolution. But they also show great loss before great success.” He screwed his eyes tight, as if in pain. “And then the liver was stained with a circle. I need to consult my books before I confirm this, but” he looked at his brother and shook his head “it suggests that a blot will fall on the victor of Veii, something bad will occur. It might be death or something as close to death as I can fathom. I will consult my books.”

  Priscus frowned. “And the heart?”

  “The heart was strong, we will win.” He added with a shrug.

  Priscus looked into the eyes of his brother, seeing those of his long dead mother looking back at him. He smiled at the thought. “So, I should not be the one to defeat the city of Veii” Priscus said out loud, his brother nodding. “Something bad will happen to whoever has that joy” he smiled. “But it will be soon” he added, his thoughts already wondering which of his enemies he could place in charge of the attacks in the coming year.

  “There was one other thing though, brother” added Sallus. “The liver and heart contained water. Something I have never seen before, but it is a clear mark from the gods. Whoever wins at Veii will have to overcome a challenge involving water.”

  ****

  Potitus crept over the rooftops keeping his head low. A call came from the wall to his right as a man saw the troops creeping along behind him. More men turned and Potitus cursed the fact that he hadn’t brought any covering shields for the scorpions. As the men at the wall turned one fell instantly to an arrow through the neck, his mouth spewing a long slow trickle of blood as he toppled into the city. The men on the wall ducked to avoid further attacks from outside the city, but the damage was done, he had been seen.

  “Quickly” he called to the soldiers, waving to the watching Marcus and pointing to the walls. As if he could read his thoughts Potitus saw his friend sending a troop of archers towards him, their arrows would provide covering support whilst the scorpions did their work. Moving swiftly he jumped across the small gap between two building, each stone-built and sturdy, and raced to the far edge. At this point he gained a better view of the city square, thousands of men lined up ready to buffer any attack from the Romans. Eyes searched the rooftops where he was crouched, searching for the danger that the men on the walls alluded to, though none seemed, yet, to have seen him. Scanning the surrounding buildings he decided that this would be as good a place as any and waved the men forwards to set up their deadly machines.

  A snap to his right announced the fall of arrows as one of the missiles clapped into the building across from him, the implement falling into the street below. Men from the square were now racing to the building on which he stood. The archers arrived and began to pelt the defenders on the wall, their range too far to do any permanent damage.

  “Quickly” Potitus chided, pacing up and down as more arrows fell short of their position.

  “Ready” came the first call as Potitus licked his lips. Another call came quickly after that, then another.

  “Get the sights lined up boys” he smiled as he spoke, his eyes moving from left to right to judge the wind and distance. “Hardly any wind, the gods are with us” he added in a low voice as he knelt to one knee and looked through the sighting mechanism of the first of the scorpions. Turning he pulled the red cloth and waved it to Marcus, who waved back and turned to bark orders at a handful of men who were lying prone on the roof top with several long ladders. The plan was audacious but it would drive fear into the enemy and cause panic, and as Potitus knew panic could win you the battle.

  ****

  Marcus waved to Potitus, his grin growing as he yelled to the men lying along the roof top above the Capenates in the road. Hundreds were dead below him, but so far the men had remained strong and the junction was secure.

  “Now” he yelled as more men appeared on the roof beside him, climbing up in small groups as he could not trust the roof to hold the weight of many men. This initial attack had to ferocious and Fabius bared his teeth as he clambered over the roof and fell behind three men who were already dropping down the ladder to appear behind the defenders in the street. Speed was vital and Marcus fell in behind the men, his eyes racing around the scene. Thos defenders closest to him and behind the front line were mostly their shields above their heads to stop the deadly arrows and had not yet seen the ladders fall behind them, but as he thought this the cries of anguish came and the Capenates at the rear began to turn. As one a thrum of arrows took the first men to step from under their shields, one running forward three full steps before he buckled with four arrows in this chest.

  As Marcus jumped the last two rungs of the ladder he called to Fabius to get the line closed up, more men rushed down the ladders, the more ambitious jumping the last five or six rungs in an effort to get to the ground quickly. Fabius was engaged with a defender, his long sword battering the wooden shield in overhead cuts as the man dodged and attempted to parry the strikes.

  “Fabius” yelled Marcus, looking to his right. “Close the line. Shields” he called, his eyes peering over the top of the wood. More men dropped into the road, others rained arrows onto the defenders. The leader of the Capenates seethed with anger as he barked new orders to his men, the rearmost turning and preparing to attack as the Roman line was not at full strength.
A sudden snap took the man’s head backwards as his eyes rolled in his head momentarily and he sank below the line of men in front of him, a great groan going up from the soldiers around him before the second in command took the lead and called his men to keep their heads.

  Thump. There it was, the first scorpion bolt had been sent flying and Marcus knew that now was the time to press the advantage. “Advance” he called as the line of Romans roared and stepped forwards. At best it was three to one in the defenders favour but Marcus knew that the shorter sword and powerful shields of the Eagles were capable of easily destroying the men in front of him in this confined space, even with such odds.

  A Capenate launched his spear in a long thrust, his grunting exploding from his lungs before the spear tip smashed into the wooden shield. Marcus waited, rocking on the balls of his feet, watching the men to right and left for a movement which would give him an opportunity to strike. Fabius clattered his blade against the shield of another man as spears started to press upwards and shields came together in the melee of the road. Perfect thought Marcus as his grin unnerved the man who was staring at him from only a few inches away, his spear now stuck in the press of men behind him. Marcus took only a second to note the sudden fear in the man’s eyes as his shoulder twitched at the jammed weapon, his head half turning to call to the men behind to back up. With a short step forward Marcus punched his shield into the enemy, darting his sword through a small gap and landing a cutting blow in the man’s guts, twisting quickly and ramming his shield forwards again. The man yelled but didn’t fall, a gush of blood hitting the stones below Marcus’s feet. To his left and right the same happened, Capenates falling to short stabbing movements before the familiar sound of Roman shields closing into a thick wall of wood rang across the alleyway.

  “Reverse step” came the slow call as Marcus prepared. “Go.” At once several Romans stepped back, the movement causing the front line of Capenates to almost fall forwards into the small space. Instantly the Romans stepped forwards and stabbed again, the man facing Marcus too focused on his blood-red mid-section to notice the thrusting action which hit his throat and nearly severed his head in one movement. As his body and that of five other Capenates fell Marcus heard the cheers of the Romans at the road entrance as they hacked into the defenders more vigorously.